


“I’d kill for a coffee… Literally.”

by comebackjessica



Series: Tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Banter, Coffee, Idiots in Love, M/M, Swearing Alfie, Tommy is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: A piece for Tumblr Anon. Prompt: “I’d kill for a coffee… Literally.”





	“I’d kill for a coffee… Literally.”

**Author's Note:**

> As you know, I'm unable to deliver short pieces so this "drabble" isn't really one...

Working the graveyard shift at this particular coffee shop had precisely three major downsides: the type of customers, their attitudes, and their crazy work hours that were an entirely separate case of bonkers. Just as Alfie was about to finish sweeping the floor and be done for the night (day?), he heard the shop bell ring. Alfie, being the most formidable barista in the area, was not one to be trifled with, and so he immediately decided to nip that customer’s attitude in the bud:

“Sorry mate, we’re closed. Come back in three hours.”

Alfie continued his sweeping, humming a song which lyrics consisted of the tasks still ahead of him (“Clean the fuckin’ cappuccino machine, dum dum dum…”) but since he did not hear another bell ring signifying the stranger’s departure, he was forced to turn around.

So there he was, in his apron, leaning on a broom and ready to point out the audacity of this bitch, until he looked that stranger right in the eye and promptly drowned in the bluest of blues. 

**“I’d kill for a coffee… Literally,”** the man said and took out a platinum American Express from what looked like a limited edition Hugo Boss wallet. 

“That a threat, treacle?” Alfie smiled evilly and proceeded to sweep the dust and dirt onto the man’s shoes. That, as predicted, was not taken lightly since the entire attire, not only the wallet, looked like it was tailored to the size and altogether more expensive than a liver transplant.

“Fuck’s sake, do you know who I am?!” The stranger huffed and tried to take the broom away from Alfie which resulted in his perfectly manicured hand being forcefully slapped.

“Yer a cunt, alright, that apparently can’t fuckin’ read, mate!” Alfie pointed towards the entrance. “We’re closed! We reopen in three hours, alright? Get the fuck outta here...” He glanced at the card in the man’s other hand. “Thomas Shelby. Whoever the fuck you are.”

Thomas Shelby, or whoever the fuck he was, looked like he really was ready to jump Alfie’s bones, however, that was the moment that the angry barista had chosen to take a step forward and tower over the other man. There was maybe an inch of difference between them but Alfie proceeded to use it thoroughly to his advantage. Now, Tommy being short as he was possessed a certain kind of gift that let him know whenever people called him “short” without using the word. And he was not amused.

“Is the machine still on?” Thomas asked, eyes cold and voice eerily calm.

“Yer ass is gonna be inside out if you don’t listen to me, mate,” Alfie barked in reply.

“I have an hour before I have to go back. To the parliament,” Thomas said, looking at his watch obnoxiously. “I’m an MP for Birmingham. So. I’ll take a flat white with caramel syrup. Now.”

“I would like it to be known, right, that yer makin’ a fool of yerself over a fuckin’ coffee.” Alfie put the broom down and went behind the counter, finally deciding that one: this cunt ain’t leaving, two: makin’ him a scalding hot coffee, and therefore an undrinkable one, should be punishment enough. And since that was precisely the kind of petty that Alfie was, he took the coffee tin out and proceeded to do his magic. “And I highly doubt that them Birmingham folk can vote.”

“Excuse me?” Tommy barked, obviously not amused. 

“You heard me.”

“What’s your name?” Thomas asked in his best “You’re fired” voice. 

“What’s it to ya? You wanna speak to my manager?” Alfie scoffed, frothing the milk way over the desired temperature.

“I do,” Tommy said.

“Well, sweetie, I’m the manager.” Alfie poured the milk into the coffee cup, made a gorgeous ballsack design and smiled at Tommy smugly. “That’ll be a hundred pounds, sweetness. For my time and energy.”

Tommy, thoroughly unimpressed, handed him the card without blinking. 

“That much of a cunt, ain’t ya?” Alfie shook his head and swiped it in the terminal. “Would you like to add a tip, my good sir?”

“Have dinner with me,” Thomas said, quickly and unexpectedly.

Alfie raised an eyebrow and gave Tommy his card back. 

“Wot, mate?”

“Dinner. With me. Tonight. You can pick me up at six.”

“Oh, I’m gonna pick ya up now, am I?”

“Yes,” Tommy said, holding the unbearably hot cup without even flinching. “Don’t be late.”


End file.
